Cure For Constipation

My days as a squatter are numbered which means, in less than a week and a half I will be homeless. In the last month and a half, I’ve been checking various real estate sites so frequently, you would think I was getting paid by clicks per second (What do you mean there isn’t a new condo up for sale!? It has been at least twenty seconds since I last checked!).

I crave stability. I like having a stable job, a car that is reliable, and a place called “home” to store my stuff. I like the things that the American dream is made out of with a side of bread pudding. It is human to yearn for a stable life filled with knowns, it makes us feel like we’re in control. I strive to fill my days with routines: hikes on Saturday, yoga on Wednesday and Sunday, climbing on Monday, work Monday to Friday, night out Saturday…etc. I file down the rough edges in my life and fill the little cracks with waterproof sealant until I can auto-pilot smoothly through it and then it drives me absolutely ape-shit. My days are filled with sugar and spice until it one day becomes the opposite of nice. My best friend calls this non-content and it’s such a perfect word because it’s not that I’m discontent with life – not when life is so peachy, it’s just…non-content. Non-content tastes like dry corn husk and too much of it can cause constipation.

In another week and a half, I have no idea where I can store my stuff, I’m not sure I can make it to yoga and life is filled with so much uncertainty that has me feeling a little frazzled. I feel like that old parrot at Petsmart whose cage has been banged on one too many times by loud screaming kids, my feathers are ruffled and I’ve got bald patches around the neck.

I went out for drinks with Brian last night, we discussed the meaning of life, the jovial possibility of us becoming that crazy eccentric old single aunt/uncle, the philosophy and psychology of perception, the anatomy of nice tits and ass, how to be an effective suicide hotline counselor (that was his previous job), the joys of learning, why so many great philosophers meet up with tragic ends, and my state of homelessness. At the end of the night, after five pitchers of sunshine, Brian asked me how I was holding up under the stress. I grinned and told him, “I’m definitely not non-content, so it’s fucking awesome.”

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